Lemoncakes
by The Moonmoth
Summary: She was eating lemoncakes from a platter when he entered her solar.


**First Published:** 14/6/12

**Warnings:** rape fantasy, roleplay

* * *

She was eating lemoncakes from a platter when he entered her solar. He had not seen her indulge in her old childhood treat for such a long time that he paused to watch her from the doorway. The way she broke the cake into little chunks and daintily popped them in her mouth was quite fascinating, but his interest was really piqued when she licked her fingers clean of crumbs and sticky sugar.

"Little bird," he growled, stepping into the room, his breeches already feeling tight.

She looked up at him, caught with the tip of one finger still in her mouth, and seemed to give him one long, assessing glance before slowly pulling out her finger and lowering her eyes.

"Can I be of some assistance, my lord?" she asked, voice taking on a breathy, girlish quality.

He stared at her, for a moment uncomprehending – _she_ had sent for _him_, and she hadn't called him _my lord_ since King's Landing.

"Ser Sandor?"

_King's Landing, _ fuck, so she wanted to play make believe. The tightening in his breeches intensified as his blood started pumping south.

"I'm no ser," he replied, letting his voice drop low and rasping, walking forwards slowly, threateningly.

Her eyes danced up his body to his face and she swallowed. _Good,_ he thought, allowing a grin to spread slowly, _very good._

"What – what do you want with me?"

Sandor leaned down over her writing desk and leered at her. She blushed prettily. _She really is very good. Or very aroused._He sniffed, wondering if he could smell her scent, but all he could smell was lemons.

"I want you to feed me, little bird," he said. "Even a dog gets hungry for some sweetness."

Haltingly, she reached for the platter and broke him off a morsel of lemoncake before holding it out to him. He did not take it from her, but bent and ate it straight from her hand. She gasped when he took her fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to take every last scrap of sticky sweet tartness.

"_My lord!_" she protested, "you should not—I am—"

"You taste sweeter than the cake, girl," he said, catching her wrist before she could take her hand back and licking unhurriedly up each of her fingers before laughing low in his throat. "I think I'll taste some other parts of you."

He was around the desk and hauling her up against his chest before she could protest, and for a moment she looked at him with dark eyes filled with lust before she started to struggle against him.

"No, please, _please!"_

"Don't scream," he warned her as he carried her through to her bedchamber, "I would hate to have to slit that pretty little throat."

He dumped her unceremoniously down on the featherbed and removed his sword belt. He took his dagger from it and threw the rest aside.

"No!" she whimpered again when she saw his blade, scrambling backwards across the bed to get away.

He laughed darkly and grabbed her ankles, pulling her back towards him. Her struggling caused her skirts to ruck up and exposed her legs to mid thigh. He pushed his hand up under them until his fingers lay flat along the gusset of her smallclothes. They both moaned at the contact – she was wet as a lathered horse already.

"Please stop, ser, I am still a maid," she gasped as he rubbed her, hands flying to his forearm, but he was too strong for her to push him off.

"Not for much longer," he growled back and brought his dagger to her chest. Her breath hitched as he let the cool metal of the flat edge caress her heaving chest before sliding it down the front of her bodice and carefully slicing it open.

"You're a brute," she cried as he bared her breasts, bending to take one hard nipple between his lips.

"And you're hot as a bitch in heat," he rasped back, pressing pointedly at her entrance through her smallclothes. She moaned, her legs falling open for a moment before she tensed and continued to struggle against him. "Maybe the little bird actually wants a good ravishing. That's not very ladylike now is it?" Pushing the two halves of her bodice aside he made short work of her skirts and smallclothes until she was fully naked before him. She tried to cover her teats and mound with her hands but he dropped the dagger and took her hands in his, pinning them both above her head with a single one of his. "I'll show you, though," he continued, unlacing himself one-handed. "I'll fuck that tight little cunt of yours until you're crying out for more."

"No, don't do this, _please_ my lord," she said breathlessly as he guided his cock out of his breeches. Her protests trailed off into incoherence when he rubbed her slit with his cockhead, jerking himself off against her hard little nub. She no longer resisted him when he parted her thighs. He pressed his tip up against her slick cunt and looked up to meet her searing gaze.

"I'm going to take your maidenhead now, little bird," he grunted.

She was breathing raggedly, drawing in air like a woman fighting for life, but as they looked at each other and the moment stretched, she breathed out, "yes – yes – my hound."

He closed his eyes briefly, in a near agonised state of arousal and _want_ before pushing into her, breaching her walls. "Sansa," he moaned, voice sounding broken to his own ears. "_Gods,_ my little bird, you feel so good." His chest felt inexplicably tight._This isn't really King's Landing,_ a small voice reminded him, but that was beside the point because he knew then that a part of him still wanted it to be. "You're mine now," he whispered. "I've claimed you, and I'll keep you safe."

"Sandor," she breathed, "_Sandor,_" and when he looked up it was Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell looking back, not his frightened little bird. "Let me go," she pleaded softly. He didn't want to. Letting her go meant letting go of this little game she had started, and he didn't feel ready. But he did it anyway, because he was her dog, not Joffrey's hound. She reached up for him and put her hands on either side of his face, giving him a look so filled with love that he felt it like a pressure on his skin and like an anchor in a storm, pulling him back from the endless well of darkness that was the worst part of his soul. Wordlessly she stroked her thumbs across the skin beneath his eyes and he realised that he was crying. He hung his head. But then Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck, and said, "Please don't hurt me, my lord."

He breathed out, relieved that it wasn't over yet, and fucked into her slowly a couple of time before he pulled her up from the bed. Still impaled on his cock, he turned them both so that he sat on the bed and she straddled his lap, the remnants of her gown hanging from her arms in tatters.

"I would never hurt you, little bird," he whispered into her collarbone.

"Please, hound," she whimpered back, rubbing her breasts against his chest and squirming helplessly, "it feels good, but I don't know what to do."

He chuckled low in his throat, almost overwhelmed with emotion and sensation. "Ride me like you would a horse," he said, gripping her arse to guide her up and down his shaft. Once she had got the rhythm he reached between them to let his thumb rub over her nub. Her eyes widened in shocked pleasure before she moaned loudly and threw her head back, and Sandor pushed away the thought that he would never really have been able to touch her like this before because _she_ had shown him how to do it. "Still feel good?" he asked, the words sounding almost choked.

"Oh _yes,_" Sansa murmured prettily. "Very-" she thrust down on him, "_very-" _again_, "pleasant. OH!"_

Her strangled cry filled the room as her body wracked and trembled with her release. It seemed to go on a very long time, her cunt twitching with aftershocks of pleasure when he thrust up into her, chasing his own release.

"Tell me what to do to make you feel as good as I, my lord," she said.

"Kiss me," Sandor told her.

She pressed her lips to his chastely, tenderly stroking his cheek, and so he buried his hand in her hair to hold her in place while he forced her mouth open with his tongue. He groaned at the feel of her tongue touching his own, tentative but curious, just like the first time he had kissed her for true, when she had whispered _I'm glad you came back for me,_ and _I'm glad it was you. _He imagined her saying those things to him in her chamber in King's Landing as he fucked her out of her innocence and naivety, and with one final hard thrust he spent himself inside her.

He went a little light-headed after that, vision and hearing buzzing with a strange tingling sensation. When he came back to his senses he was flat on his back on the bed, Sansa sprawled across his torso. His softening cock was still inside her and she had pushed up his tunic to press kisses to his chest.

She smiled at him when she saw him looking, near humming with satisfaction. "My love," she said, propping herself up on her elbows to kiss him softly. The movement made her press down slightly on him and he felt her cunt contract again and saw her shiver in pleasure. "Mmm," she said, "might we do that again?"

"Give me a moment, little bird," he said shakily, though his cock was already starting to get stiff once more.

She sat up, pushing him deeper and they both let out a soft sound of pleasure. "While I'm waiting," she said, "perhaps you will allow me to undress you?"

Sandor looked down his body and saw he still wore not only his tunic, but his breeches and boots as well. Giving him a small, wolfish smile, she leant over and picked up his dagger.

"My turn," she said.


End file.
